For Lack of a Better Name
by Serenity Turner
Summary: GWBF, RWHG ships.  In the fifth book at Christmastime George randomly says that there is a cute muggle girl working at a muggle paper shop in town. Turns out she isn't a muggle after all.  And Ron finally works up the guts regarding a certain witch. R&R!


Setting: Christmas Break of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's 6th Year

Main Characters/Shippings: George Weasley and Bridget Finnegan, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger

**Yes, I know it's a really short chapter, but it was just a boredom remedy. Maybe I'll continue with it if enough people like it.**

**Chapter One: If I didn't know any better…**

_"Amazing. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were using real magic." The mischievous twinkle in her eye made George's heart skip a beat. "Do come back later to show me more."_

"Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting." George snapped out of his little reminiscence to see Harry peering at him from an uncomfortably close distance. "Wipe your mouth, mate. You're drooling." Harry leaned back in his extremely comfortable kitchen chair, as George obliged. A roar of frustration came from across the table, where Ron was sitting with a blank piece of parchment in front of him.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to write? I'm dreadful at this sort of thing. I don't even know where to start."

"You still haven't told me who you're writing it to," George grunted, "and, judging by the look of pure distaste when I threw your girlfriend's name out there, it isn't her. If we're to help, we need to know what exactly we're helping with." He pulled on his coat and made his way over to the door.

"I'm not telling you, you'd only get a laugh out of it." Ron's face seemed to be torn between dejection and frustration.

"Well, then, there's nothing you or I can do about that. If Mum asks, I'm in the village, buying paper from that attractive Muggle girl." He grinned at Ron, who winced at his last three words. "Is that a clue?" Ron shook his head violently.

"No, 'course not."

"Right." George swung open the door, laughing as a huge gust of fluffy snow flew in and nestled on Ron. "You never were good at bluffing." And he let the door slam behind him.

* * *

There was a tinkling sound as the door to my family's paper shop opened. I spun around, hopeful, and was not disappointed. There he stood, his deck of cards in hand, familiar roguish grin in place. I took off my name tag; the lack of knowledge regarding each other's name had become something of a game to us. I admit I was a bit of a cheater, as I already knew his. 

"Good afternoon. May I help you?"

"You just might be able to. Do me a favour and pick a card?"

For about three hours, we did this, with me stopping every once in a while to assist the rare customer. As it got nearer to closing time, he began to question my name.

"Genevieve? No, you don't look like a Genevieve. Catherine, perhaps? I know an Irish accent when I hear one." I shook my head at each incorrect guess, my smile widening with each one.

"Fine, I give in."

I decided to be honest with him.

"I suppose I have an unfair advantage. I already know that you are either Fred or George Weasley, one of the founders of _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_. I also happen to know that you were in Gryffindor house and, with your brother, left in the middle of your 7th year last year, creating quite a spectacle involving a rather loathed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He stood there looking dumbfounded. I also stood, waiting politely for him to speak. Finally…

"I'm George," he said hoarsely.

"Bridget," I smiled extending a hand. "Bridget Finnegan. Gryffindor, 7th year." He took my hand, but did not shake it. We stood there for a good ten seconds, his warm hand wrapped around mine.

The giant grandfather clock in the corner gave off seven unexpected chimes. I jumped with surprise, and took the opportunity to let go.

"Time to close up shop," I said, smiling apologetically. "You'd better go."

"Yeah," George broke his silence as he pulled on his gloves. "Right. Well, see you – see you around." He opened the door, hesitating for a moment. Turning his head, he said, "Go north up this road. Take your second left, and keep going 'til you come to a place called the Burrow. I'll be there all break, if you need someone to…I mean, if you want to…"

"Thanks," I cut in, trying to hold in what I was feeling at that particular moment. "Maybe I'll stop by.

"Right. Right." And with that, he left.


End file.
